


Spirit Running

by Foxzila44



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Character Growth, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drama, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Questionable Motives, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxzila44/pseuds/Foxzila44
Summary: Swiftwater has always been a quiet, meek warrior. As more than half of the clan perishes due to a plague, however, it is up to the tom to start stepping outside of his comfort zone. With new blood comes new problems. New friendships. New relationships. New... Laws?Follow Swiftwater as he helps to stabilize SnowClan in a time of peril and need, and while he goes through his own journey of where he stands within his clan.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! this is the same SnowClan I have been using for years and years now. I have written this story over the course of a couple years, and it's still not finished yet! however, i wanted to show everyone else this story in hopes that they would enjoy it as well. thanks for reading and let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> this prologue is very brief, but the next chapters will be lengthier!

Cold air filtered through the camp grounds. Not many were out of their dens. Night was closing in on the camp, but Tawnystar was too worried to sleep. 

Cherryfeather, the dear medicine cat, had become very ill. It was rare for medicine cats to receive an illness, let alone a life threatening one. The leader could only sit outside the den, listening for something on the inside of the medicinal area. 

A puff of breath left his muzzle, followed by a billow of warm air into the night sky. He drew in a breath, standing as the entrance to the medicine den rustled. A dark brown and sandy tom pushed his way out, moss tucked under his chin. “Thistletongue,” Tawnystar greeted, kneading the ground momentarily. “How is she?” Thistletongue set the moss down, tail twitching, face grim. 

“It’s… Not looking good. You may want to say your last words to her.” He admitted, voice calm, but grief weighed heavy in the medicine cat apprentice’s eyes. “Don’t get too close. I’m not sure how viral the sickness is.” He ducked his head once more, tucking the moss under his chin after he’d gathered it. 

“Don’t get sick, Thistletongue.” Tawnystar warned. Thistletongue twitched his ears, acknowledging he’d heard, and padded towards the camp entrance. The ginger, white and brown leader sighed, squaring his shoulders. He ducked into the medicine den, green eyes focusing on a lump near the back of the den. He could hear faint, raspy breathing. Swallowing, he picked his way over to her, peering down at her thin body. 

Age had taken ahold of her, but the illness had done worse. Her fur was a mess, the thick calico was clumpy, ungroomed. Tawnystar slowly touched a paw to her side, and it easily met the ribs of her side as compared to flesh and muscle. There was another raspy puff, and a soft, trembling voice. “Tawnystar…” Looking down, the tom could see that her eyes were just barely slitted open. A now sickly yellow, she could barely focus on the leader. 

“It’s me, Cherryfeather.” He confirmed in a mumble, briefly touching his tail to her pelt. She let out another breath, eyes closing, then opening once more slowly. 

“Tawnystar… Beware… The spirit that runs… With the pack…” Her voice was hardly more than a wispy utter, forcing Tawnystar to suppress a shiver. He wasn’t sure if she had just spoken a prophecy, or if her mind was so dazed she wasn’t sure what she spoke of. He didn’t have a chance to ask her, either. Her eyes slid closed again, but this time, didn’t reopen. Her trembling breath had somewhat evened out. She was asleep. 

He chose to not wake her, let her gain her strength through resting. He could consult her about it in the morning, or Thistletongue. See if he’d heard. 

Turning, Tawnystar made his way out of the den and to his own. 

The next morning, he heard more voices than normal. Blinking open sleep bleared eyes, he tried to decipher what was happening, but couldn’t. What if they were under attack? Or someone came to the camp? Fur prickling, he scrambled to his paws, shuffling out of his den. Coming into the clearing, he leaped from his den, seeing cats congregated around something. 

“What’s going on?” He demanded. Cats turned to him, taking in the still bedraggled sight of their leader, before splitting slightly. In the center of the huddle lay Cherryfeather. She was well groomed, and the way she lay, with her paws tucked under her snowy chest, she looked at peace. The age could hardly be seen on her patchy fur. 

Tawnystar’s shoulders drooped. He felt all alert leave his body as he slowly dragged himself forward on stone paws. Thistletongue came out, lavender stuffed in his jaws, set down beside her. He hooked one with a claw, rubbing it over her pelt. “She joined StarClan sometime during the night.” He informed, not looking at his leader. “She’s almost ready for vigil.” 

“Right.” Tawnystar mumbled, dipping his head. He turned to his clan. Most looked sullen, but he could see the accepting factors on their faces. Some looked almost a little fearful about whatever illness she had caught. “It was her time,” Tawnystar started as he faced the brunt of the clan. “Let’s not forget who her mentor was. Frostpath, SnowClan’s second medicine cat, and the one who discovered the Moonpath. Cherryfeather was an elder cat, who served her clan for many good seasons. We shall grieve, but we shall also greet a new generation with Thistletongue as medicine cat.” He gave a flick of his ears as other cats uttered their approval.

When Thistletongue finished preparing Cherryfeather, Tawnystar was the first to settle by her. He settled at her head, nose pressing into the fur of her neck. Her body was cold, the very faint scent of illness clinging yet to her fur, though it was mostly blotted out by herbs. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the feel of his former medicine cat’s fur beneath his nose and the settling of his clanmates beside him, but only ill thoughts plagued his mind. 

He didn’t know this was the start of something. A medicine cat growing ill was rare, and when it usually happened, it didn’t lead to anything good. Cherryfeather was old, so that could have played a factor, but Tawnystar wasn’t too sure on it. 

_Oh, StarClan… Please don’t let this lead to anything big._ He prayed silently, pressing his muzzle only further into Cherryfeather’s fur.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters may be somewhat brief for awhile. I never really intended to post this story, so i'm figuring out chapters as i go along. forgive me!

The following weeks only proved to bring more illness to the clan. The first cat to fall sick to it was Spiderfrost. The elder tom had barely survived two days with it before he was taken by StarClan. Only five days later, the other three elders had succumbed to the illness, and had died, unable to be cured. Thistletongue was starting to give some warriors herbs to prevent whatever it this was, although so far, it had just seemed to affect the elderly. 

That is, until a young warrior named Needleflower shared their same fate. The same symptoms were wrought upon her, and she had died shortly after coughing up an alarming amount of blood. Soon to follow was the senior warrior Milkypelt, as well as another one, Petaltail. Marblenose’s kits had died one by one, and her death had come shortly after. 

Other cats were falling ill, showing the same symptoms. Over the days they didn’t get better, and with so few healthy cats, prey in the cold weather did not come easy. Thistletongue had his den full of cats, so when Swiftwater began to feel a little tight chested, he had to fight to keep his panic hidden. He didn’t think it was the same symptom display as the sickness, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to bother Thistletongue in his den with his paws already full, but he wanted to fight… Whatever this was off before it got worse. 

The hunting patrol didn’t go too well. His breath was raspy, and it was hard for him to draw in soft, quiet breaths. He’d pulled himself nearly silent through undergrowth, and when he’d gotten close to the mouse, ready to pounce, the breath he drew in had rattled. The mouse had darted away without a second thought, but he hadn’t been quick enough. He fell flat on the ground, a groan leaving his chest as he pried his eyes open. 

He could just see the mouse scamper through the bushes, outside the territory, but the telltale squeak showed it had been caught. Swiftwater lifted his head, ears twitching in confusion. His pale yellow gaze narrowed, and he pushed himself to his paws, crouching and picking his way through the bushes. Taking cover, he drew in a breath as a cat stood up, looking around. She was very pretty, Swiftwater noticed, with a soft brown speckled pelt, and sky blue eyes. She set the mouse down briefly, lifting her head and tasting the air. 

“I know you’re there. You’re one of the those pack cats, right?” She spoke, looking over the area, at no place in particular. Swiftwater cursed himself, hesitation heavy in his paws. He glanced over. He could just… Back out, pretend he was never here. “You seem ill, too. I know how to cure illnesses.” She insisted, and the black and white tom’s ears flattened. His medicine cat knew herbs, too, but he was always so busy now… 

Finally, Swiftwater crawled out, shaking the debris out of his pelt as he stood. The she-cat’s eyes locked on him, and her whiskers twitched in greeting. She didn’t move from where she stood, however, and he wasn’t sure why. 

“Am I supposed to come over there?” He asked, finally. 

“Am I allowed to come into your territory?” She responded, tilting her head inquisitively. So, she wasn’t really a rogue… She seemed to respect boundaries. 

“Uh… Yeah, sure.” He answered, a little dumbly. _Mousebrain. You should cross out of yours._ He thought, pelt twitching somewhat anxiously as the she-cat ducked her head, picking up the mouse, and trotted lightly over to him. She seemed to maneuver through the territory without hassle, unlike most others not in SnowClan. 

“I don’t like to cross boundaries without permission.” She admitted once she reached him, setting the mouse down. “I mean, I don’t think they’re really necessary, but I know that’s the way you all deal with your different packs.” 

“Packs?” He echoed, confused. It seemed to click, though, just as she was about to explain, so he spoke first. “O-Oh, the clans. They’re called clans.” He corrected finally, giving a sure swish of his tail. 

“Oh wow, really? We’ve been calling them packs this whole time.” She blinked, genuine curiosity in her eyes. 

“We?” The tom echoed, looking around cautiously. 

“Yes, my group. We live out beyond your territory.” She informed, looking over her shoulder to where she had come from. “A little ways back. We don’t hunt on your land, of course, but we have observed you. We’re curious.” She admitted, training her pretty blue eyes back onto him. 

“I… I see. How long have you lived there for?” He asked. She shrugged, nose twitching as she pondered the question. 

“Personally, I’ve lived with them for about two or three moons. I’m not sure how long they’ve all been there, though.” She admitted. Swiftwater swallowed, ears twitching back faintly. There had been cats right outside SnowClan the whole time, and nobody had known? Or, at least, nobody had said anything… “What’s your name?” His head lifted more, as did his ears, when she spoke again. 

“Swiftwater. Yours?” He responded. 

“Fallow.” She responded, curling her tail up. 

“Fallow…” He mumbled, the name strange on his tongue. 

“Yes. A deer.” She responded, voice somewhat teasing. 

“You’re… Not from around here, are you.” He confirmed, not a question, but a statement. 

“I am generally, yes. My parents weren’t, though. They came from far.” She waved her tail, glancing out to nowhere in particular. She raised her nose, scenting the air for a few moments, before squinting passed the foliage of the trees. “Oh, mousedung, I better get back. Tavvia will be kitting soon.” She commented, bending her head to pick up her mouse. Suddenly, she stopped, though, eyeing Swiftwater. She drew back up, shifting back. “You take it.”

“Me?” He blinked in surprise at her proposition, and she only gave a nod. 

“It… Really should’ve been your mouse.” She admitted, scuffing a paw on the ground for a moment. “It’s not your fault you’re sick. I don’t know if you clan cats have herbs for illnesses, but they work well. You’re showing the signs of something that two of our cats had. Mouse didn’t make it, but Flower did. We used some frostmint to help cure it, and the rabbit nose flower to help strengthen her afterwards.” She suggested. 

Frostmint? Rabbit nose? He’d never heard of any of those. Then again, he wasn’t a medicine cat, but he knew some herbs… Like, marigold, and tansy… Yarrot… Or was it yarrow? “Uh… Okay.” He responded slowly, tail tip twitching. Fallow’s own tail twitched in amusement, and she took a step back. 

“Okay, silly. Enjoy that mouse. I’ll see you around.” She teased, and as she turned, her tail whisked across Swiftwater’s nose. Without another word, she bounded through the foliage, out of the territory, and soon, out of sight. For a few moments, he just stood there, struggling to regain composure and breath. 

What… Just happened? He swore he would’ve just thought all of that up, but as he bent his head to pick up the mouse, Fallow’s sweet scent lingered in his nostrils and bathed his tongue. _Wow… She sure was something… And educated! She knew about herbs, and how to hunt. I’m sure she can fight too. She’d be a great asset to the clan._ He thought, distracted as he trudged back to camp. He had to stop and set down the mouse briefly as he became winded from the trek, hardly able to breath through his nose. 

_Foxdung… I am getting the illness… I can’t let this happen. I need to help my clan._ He shook his head, focusing back as he picked up the mouse and hurried back to SnowClan’s camp.


End file.
